


The Better Man

by Brenda



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik <i>cannot</i> - will not - forget the true reason he's here.  Any distraction, however tempting, could prove his undoing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Better Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starzangel1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starzangel1/gifts).



The air is crisp, cool, but carries the first hints of spring when Erik takes his morning run, eschewing the track at the compound for getting out and seeing a little of his surroundings. He can't defend against what he doesn't know. And despite what the CIA would have all of them believe, no place is completely secure or invulnerable to attack. It's best to be prepared and plan for all outcomes.

Save for the guards stationed along the perimeter gate, he's the only one awake at this hour. Well, Hank's possibly in his lab or with Cerebro, but Erik's convinced that one of the kid's side mutations is that he doesn't need sleep. It's like his brain can't shut off long enough for rest.

Erik wonders if Charles suffers through anything similar. If the buzzing of every other mind around him, active even in slumber, disturbs him enough so that true sleep isn't an option. It's a vaguely terrifying idea.

Charles again, he mocks silently, shoes pounding on the road with every step. Always Charles, invading his thoughts, pinning him in place, imprisoning him with bars he can neither manipulate nor control.

Charles, who can quote Homer with ease and enjoys fine wines and is blissfully optimistic about humankind, but also loves rock & roll and isn't above manipulating girls into sleeping with him and who can be absolutely terrifying when questioning a suspect and gleaning all possible information from reluctant witnesses.

Charles, who could crawl around like an insect into people's minds and force them to think or do anything he wanted. Who, with just a mere flick of his wrist, could take away that free will he so espoused to love, who could twist the minds of everyone around him until they were all malleable puppets, eager to do his bidding.

Charles, whose limitless arrogance is surpassed only by his artless generosity, and who has no idea (despite what he thinks) what he's asking for every time he stands too close to Erik with his wide, blue eyes and mischievous smile.

Erik curses under his breath, puts on a burst of speed until his calves and thighs scream in protest and his lungs start to burn. He feels the hum of metal under his feet, a beacon calling him home.

It doesn't help. But he already knows that running never does. 

***

He doesn't go looking for any of the others until after he's showered and changed and gone over his notes on Shaw one more time. He knows every word, every drawing, every photo, by heart, but he still pores over them every chance he gets. Always looking for that small clue he might have missed. The need to find Shaw, exact revenge, is as ever-present as his heartbeat, and pulses through him just as constant.

But the Siren's call of Charles is just as strong – Charles _again_ , Charles always, a mystery he cannot hope to solve, an enigma he cannot fathom unwinding – so, somehow, he's not surprised when he heads straight for the lab. Charles is there, in his ever-present jeans and tweed, a young, hip professor in a young, hip world, standing far too close to Moira, their heads bent together over a sheaf of papers. 

Erik shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, finds the coin in his pocket and clutches it until the edges graft themselves into his skin. He cannot forget the true reason he's here. Any distraction, however tempting, could prove his undoing.

But that still doesn't stop his traitorous heart from stumbling when Charles spots him and bestows him with that welcoming, guileless smile. The warmth in it flows through him like liquid gold.

"You and Moira have gotten close," he remarks, once she's out of earshot.

"She's been a valuable help," Charles replies, clapping Erik on the back. The touch lingers, as it always does. "Sean's taken a particular liking to her."

 _And you?_ Erik wants to ask, but doesn't. He's not sure he wants to know the answer.

"She's only one person, of course," Charles continues, "but she's a great ally. We could use more like her."

Humans again, Erik thinks. Why did Charles persist in placing so much faith in them and their malleable morality? Hadn't they already proven, over and over, that they were petty and small-minded and not to be trusted? Someone as obviously brilliant as Charles had to know this already.

"We're ready for you, Professor," Hank says from his place at the monitors, and Erik watches as Charles is hooked up to Cerebro for the day's mutant-finding assignment. They'd been at this for days already, and each time, it seems like it takes just a little more out of Charles, takes him longer to recover.

But Erik stands aside, dispassionate and stoic as Charles grips the railing, knuckles white, and the machine spits out names, places, provides an ever-growing list of mutants for humans to exploit and control. If Charles wants to hand an army over to the Homo sapiens – an army the humans could never contain or control – and destroy himself in the process, it's of no importance to Erik. Not as long as Charles is still able to help him. He _can't_ forget why he's truly here.

Then Charles pales under the strain and sways, and Erik is moving forward before he's even aware he's made the choice.

"Shut it down, Hank, _now_." 

Hank scrambles to obey, and Erik is just fast enough to catch Charles when he slumps forward. 

"The Agency has no right to ask this of you." Erik curls his fists around Charles' arms in an effort not to rip the room to shreds, crumble and twist all of the metal to dust – Cerebro and everything in it, everything it represents. Identification is only the first step.

"They didn't. This is _my_ choice, Erik," Charles replies weakly, and pats his arm before stepping back to stand on his own wobbly feet. "We need to find these mutants before Shaw can corrupt them. Show them a different path. A _better_ path."

" _Fuck_ the other mutants, Charles," Erik snaps furiously. "Without _you_ , it all falls apart, can't you see that?" 

"Don't worry," Charles says, exhaustion clear in his voice. "You're not going to lose your most valuable weapon. I'll be fine."

 _That's not what I meant_ , Erik wants to say, but pulls short. Isn't that what he means, really? Isn't that what he'd just been thinking? Charles _is_ an important weapon in the fight against Shaw. The only weapon, if Erik is honest. 

"You're not just a weapon," he finally says, compromising himself when he'd sworn long ago he'd never have to again. "Not to me."

"Am I not?" Charles asks amiably.

A muscle in Erik's jaw twitches. "You can't even see the power that we already have. How much better than humans we already _are_. We don't _need_ them or their machines to win this war."

"But we're not _at_ war, Erik. We're not soldiers, and despite what you think, I'm not here to raise an army. I'm here to provide our people with a choice. To educate them to new possibilities. Which is what you should want, as well."

"I don't _want_ to educate anyone," Erik snaps, the edges of his temper fraying. "Shouldn't that be your job?"

"I suppose it is, but you have every bit as much to offer as I do, and just as much insight." Charles pats him on the back. "Don't sell yourself short, my friend." Then, before Erik can bite out a retort, Charles turns. "Come outside with me. The fresh air will do me good."

They walk in silence for awhile, both of them lost in thought. Erik spends the time stealing glances at Charles. The color's finally come back into his cheeks, but it's taking longer each time for Charles to fully come back to himself. 

"Doesn't it worry you?" he finally asks. "You have no idea what the long-term effects are of Cerebro, yet you willingly let them use you like they would any guinea pig –"

"I'm _fine_ ," Charles interrupts. "I happen to think it's necessary, even if you don't."

"I don't think we should be wasting our time on these recruitment missions when we _should_ be going after the real threat."

"You're blinded by your hatred."

"And you by your inexplicable trust in humans. Mark my words; it will be your downfall."

Erik just hopes he's long gone by the time that happens. He's not certain he could bear to see the crushing disappointment on Charles' face when he finally realizes his beloved humans will never be an ally.

" _Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita/mi ritrovai per una selva oscura/ché la diritta via era smarrita_ ," Charles quotes softly, almost as if he's speaking to himself. 

"Are you?" Erik asks, then clarifies: "Lost, I mean." 

Charles looks up at him, face half-hidden by the clouds obscuring the weak sunlight. From this position, he looks like a god. All shadows and terrible power. "Some days more than others."

"I find that difficult to believe." How could anyone with such insight into the beating hearts and desires of his fellow man ever be lost, even for a moment?

"Oh, Erik." Charles' sigh holds the weight of the world. He stops, turns, close enough to touch. "For all your worldliness, you have so much to learn."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do you think you're the only person who's felt corrupted and tainted by your thoughts and desires? We are _all_ dark creatures struggling to find the light."

"Is that what you think? That I'm struggling?" Erik knows who he is. He's always known. It's Charles' own fault for being naïve enough not to see who – what – Erik truly is. "Sometimes, I wonder who exactly it is you see when you look at me."

"Sometimes I wonder myself," Charles replies. His eyes are so blue it hurts to look at them. Then he waggles his fingers. "I could try to show you, if you like."

The last thing he wants is Charles crawling around in his mind, taking even more of Erik than he already has. "No," he replies, simply. "I prefer the mystery."

"I know what you mean."

"How could you?" 

Charles lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. "I doubt even the most powerful telepath in the world could fully figure out all of the hidden corners of your mind, my friend. I doubt you even know them all yourself."

"I know who I am."

"Do you?" Charles muses. "I wonder. But it's no matter. I can see why you wouldn't want me poking around in there."

Erik rakes a hand through his hair. "It's not that I don't trust you –"

"Of _course_ you don't," Charles interrupts, impatient. "How could you."

Erik drops his hand, stares at Charles in shock. "Charles..."

"I'm a _telepath_ , Erik, you think I don't fully comprehend what that means?" Charles whirls away, then back. He looks agitated, his composure cracked – he's the most beautiful thing Erik's ever seen. "You think I'm not aware that I can _never_ be fully trusted by anyone?" He stops, seems to bite back a reply, then starts again. "It's not your trust I neither need nor seek. It never has been."

"Then what is? What do you want from me?" Erik asks, desperate, broken, raw, with none of his earlier anger. In the face of Charles' naked honesty, he can only offer the same.

"This." Charles steps closer, heat and need radiating from him like molten steel, supple and so very volatile. "I need those serrated edges, I want the dark and twisted thoughts you try to hide. I want your murderous impulses and your anger, that beautiful rage inside you yearning to be set free. I don't want you to hide. Not anymore, not from me," he says, searching Erik's face.

Erik swallows, forces his hands to keep still by sheer will alone. "I don't think that's what you really want."

In Charles' smile, Erik can see an echo of his normal arrogance. "You have no idea what I want. Are you afraid to give it to me?"

"Terrified," Erik answers, his throat bruised and raw. He ignores the voice in his head telling him he's better than this. He already knows he is. He already knows it won't stop him.

Charles' smile softens. "That makes two of us," and his lips are on Erik's before Erik can think to ask how Charles could ever be afraid of _him_ when Charles is the one with all of the power.

 _I would lay the world to waste to protect you,_ he thinks, sinking into the kiss, and the metal in the air around them vibrates in response.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Written for starzangel1 - an incredibly loose interpretation of this request: _Fallen on the battlefield._
> 
> Thanks to J for the beta and notes!
> 
> *Quote translation: _Midway upon the journey of our life/I found myself within a forest dark/For the straightforward pathway had been lost._ (From Dante's Inferno, Canto 1)


End file.
